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CITY LIFE 



A MASK OF SONNETS 



CITY LIFE 



A MASK OF SONNETS 



ONE LAST WORD 

TO MY HARVARD COLLEGE CLASSMATES 

LIVING AT COMMENCEMENT 

1864—1914 



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GEORGE WINSLOW PIERCE 






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Copyright 1914 

George Winslow Pierce 

Boston, Mass. 



/^ 



JUN 17 is;! 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2010 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/citylifeOOpier 




CITY LIFE 



A MASK OF SONNETS 




TO MY READING LAMP 

CONSPICUOUS type of geometric form 
Whose sides are trapezoids in number five 
And bulk a frustum would be, while alive 
Still close beside it tries this struggling worm 
To read the daily news of calm or storm 

And monthly magazines, the human hive 
From all about inviting him to dive 
Where perjuries are helps and hates survive?! — 



Through thee competing is there not a path 
To lead this quiv^ering flybait to the sun, 

To his lost product yet an aftermath 

Before his ultra seventy day is done. 

Beside his dreary, blank, unheated hearth 
No glory, story, PERSiflage, nor fun? 



TO MY LANDLADY 

WHOSE name is Myriad and wbqse fame is mud. 
Before the devil took thee twice to wive 
And left superior sweethearts' halves alive 
And non-protestants blasted in the bud 
How gott'st thy shelter and tridaily food, 

And by what treacheries didst then contrive 
And with thy calculating friends connive 
To place a monthly balance to the good ? 



Whose weekly kindness would withdraw a cold 
Potato from a frowsy beggar's store, 

And hast a countenance ten times as bold. 
Compelled like Oliver to ask for more; 

Thy thefts re-stored in trunks, thy gas, thy heat. 

Distort our features, warming not our feet. 



TO INVENTION 

PURPOSE of Genius, from composite air 
Or water gliding towards a deeper goal. 
Or fired worthless sediment, prepare 
To save my semblance from its last despair. 
Its nose of early Grecian and red hair; 

To do the world a favor and submit 
Thyself to competition for the dime. 

Crown earthly hope for good, prove we are IT, 
Fill the serene unconscious, stand sublime, — 
Plus Ultra, naming the frontier of Time! 



O ne'er o'erladen mother, wilt thou be. 

And canst, significance to my nots and me. 

By safe investment rich and bargain fair? 

Disclose thy Monday Plaisance, When and Where! 



TO AN OLD WOMAN 

1 LOVED thee, sweetheart, when the joy of hfe 
Illumined both our smiles in mothers' arms, 
When aunts-in-law had answered, George's Wife, 
And granddads recognized thy opening charms; 
I loved thee for thy quick responses then 
Before and moreish than all other men. 

Thy prize papa was rich as ours was poor. 

And small resemblance 'twixt his house and your. 



If which too previous for a sonnet is 

Expunge the syllables that scan amiss; 

My heavenly theme requireth perfect art. 
The sense connecting where the verSets part: 

Each eight matched lines this sexplet serial viz 

Whose fives that fit must rhyme with self and heart. 



TO THE SAME 

I loved thee, sweetheart, when a virgin's truth 

With one false kiss thou scatteredst to the world, 
A worldly choice for which a cent is twirled 

Without a thought or one last word of ruth; 

An unknown, seen or heard, and older youth. 
Thy rightful blush bediamonded and pearled 
With all its banners to the day unfurled 

And thirty thousand silver coins, forsooth. 



In seven short years preferred my rival's line 
His thirty thousand showed the minus sign 

And his small stature standing towards the sky 
Had turned the angle right to underlie 
And left an heir to share my flattering sigh. 
Uncertain if her heart thrice won was mine. 



TO THE SAME 

I loved thee, sweetheart, when advancing age 

And long delay had dulled my manhood's prime, 
Unwilling thus — to give thee back to Time, 

To sealed forever the path-blotted page 

With tears indeed, how quick enough with rage 
And all my own or half another's blood 
Had I been licensed to draw the sword 

Or turn the rifle on my cross engage. 



In this perpetual, anteborn defeat 

Which must have fallen from the Heights Above, 
Wherewith all contradiction seems to meet. 

Above all others Whether God is Love, 
If I can have of all success but one 
Unmask the Sonnet; give me yet a SON ! 



If I wander never mind me; 

Where you left me shall you find me 

Peeping still before, behind me 

At my dreary chamber door. 
Lost in love, in life defeated, 
But content if not conceited 
With a whispered, oft repeated 

Something I have said before: 



With a softly whispered something. 
Something, something, something, something. 
Something, something, something, something. 

Something I have said before. 
Nothing much. Excuse the sonnet, 

Nothing much — and nothing more. 



